The Heart of Grace

With an inner sigh, Drew resurfaced and managed to raise his eyelids. Squinting at the bright light and too-white room, he saw his tormenter. A doctor. But he wasn’t sure which one. That was one of the problems he’d been having. His memory wasn’t as good as it used to be. Things were a little fuzzy. His head hurt. A lot.

“I’ve never been in a hospital,” he grumbled.

“So you told me.”

He had?

Eyes wider now, he focused on the physician’s name badge. Dr. Pascal. Neurology. “When can I get out of here?”

The doctor sidestepped the question with one of his own. “How’s the vision? Any more problems?”

Drew’s gut lurched. He didn’t like thinking about the hours of blackness that had surrounded him after the blast. “Twenty-twenty.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Drew wondered who let’s was. Doctors all seemed to speak as if they were polymorphic. The God complex, he supposed.

His own drug-twisted humor amused him, but in truth, if he looked at the doc too long, he saw more than one. He sobered instantly. There was nothing funny about that.

Two were better than none, but still…

Dr. Pascal’s thick fingers stretched Drew’s eyelids apart while shining a pin light back and forth. Back and forth. The doc smelled like mouthwash and antiseptic soap.

“No more episodes of blindness? Double vision? Blurriness?”

“Some,” he admitted, hating the truth but figuring the doc should know. “How long before it goes away for good?”

“No way to tell. You sustained a pretty nasty concussion, but the CAT scan didn’t indicate anything permanent. If you’re lucky, this will be gone by the time you are dismissed.”

He’d only been lucky once in his life. The day he’d found Larissa. And look how that turned out.

If luck was required to heal his vision, he was in deep trouble.

The jitters in his belly turned to earthquakes. His eyes were everything. A photographer had to see and see clearly.

“Anything you can do for it?”

“Time.” The doc fingered something on the bedside table. “And divine intervention, if you believe in such things.”

Drew raised his pounding head ever so slightly and saw the doctor holding the small pewter fish he usually wore on a leather string around his neck. His hand went to his throat. He never liked to be without it. Someone had been thoughtful enough to realize that.

“I’m not a religious man.”

He saw no point in explaining to the doc or anyone else that the ichthus was his only link to the past and to the brothers he hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. Other than this small reminder, he had nothing. He didn’t even know where they were.

Like Larissa, his brothers were gone.

Something deep inside him began to ache. He wished the morphine would kick in again.

The memory of his two brothers, of that last day in the school counselor’s office sometimes overwhelmed him, especially when he was weak or sick or overtired.

Times like now. For a few painful seconds, Ian and Collin hovered on the edge of his mind.

Ian, cute and small and loving had probably been adopted. No one could resist that little dude. And Collin. Well, Collin was like him, a survivor. Collin would be okay.

Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to find them again, to be with his brothers, but he couldn’t. Never would. He was no longer Drew Grace, pitiful child of a crack queen. He was Drew Michaels, successful photographer. He never wanted anyone, especially Larissa, to discover that he was literally nobody—a nobody with a deadly secret and a gutful of guilt.

Over the years, he’d become a master at forcing his brothers back into the box inside his mind where the past resided.

He did that now, carefully, painstakingly shutting the door on the childish faces of Ian and Collin Grace.

“The brain is an interesting organ,” Dr. Pascal said, handing him the necklace without comment.

Drew reclaimed the ichthus, but didn’t answer. He didn’t know how interesting his brain was and didn’t much care. But he couldn’t afford to lose the one thing that made him a photographer—his eyes.

“Most visual disturbances resolve as the swelling in your brain returns to normal.”

Drew swallowed. His throat was raw and scratchy from what the nurses called intubation. Basically, having a tube stuffed down his throat during surgery.

“And when the problems don’t resolve themselves?” he asked.

The doctor patted his shoulder. “No use borrowing trouble. You have enough to think about.”

Drew was not comforted. “What happens next?”

“In a few days your surgeons and I will look at dismissal. But you’re still weak from the blood loss.”

“Tell me about it.” He could barely feed himself.

“Losing your spleen is a serious operation. How’s the incision?”

“The other docs looked at it this morning. At least, I think it was this morning. They said it was looking good.”

“You’re fortunate to be healthy and in good physical shape. It probably saved your life.”

“I’m a survivor,” he said grimly.

“You’ll need some rehab on the shattered ankle and heel and plenty of time for the broken ribs to mend.”

“So, are you sending me to one of those rehab places?”

The doc’s brown eyes crinkled as if he was about to offer Drew the grand prize. “Wouldn’t you rather go home?”

The question was a kick in the gut. Sure, he’d like to go home. Wherever that was.

Larissa’s knees trembled as she traversed the long white corridor toward Drew’s hospital room. For five days, she’d done nothing but pray and make telephone calls and argue with her parents. Even though she was thirty-two years old, they still attempted to run her life. To their way of thinking, she never should have married Drew. And she sure shouldn’t run to his bedside after he’d announced his intention to divorce her.

But how could she not? He was her husband and she loved him.

Right now, she refused to deal with the pressure from her parents. Knowing her husband was lying in a hospital bed, seriously injured was all she could handle. The list of injuries was frightening, to say the least. Broken ribs, ankle, heel, a ruptured spleen, and too many cuts and bruises for anyone to tell her about on the telephone. She was terrified to see him.

Her Prada heels echoed in the sterile white environment. She reached room 4723 and stopped, suddenly short of breath, not from the climb but from the uncertainty.

How would Drew look? Would he be conscious? Was he in awful pain?

The new worry crowded in. Would he want her here? Would he be angry that she had come after he’d made it clear that he never wanted to see her again?

During the time Drew was in a military hospital in Germany, she’d called every day. He either hadn’t been able or willing to speak to her. Now that he was here in Walter Reed, she’d given up calling. She’d gotten on a plane and come.

The fact that he’d initiated a divorce didn’t mean anything at this point. Drew was her husband. He needed her. And she was going to take care of him whether he liked it or not. During his recovery, she would pray every single day for God to change Drew’s mind and heal their marriage. A politician’s daughter didn’t give up without a fight.

Fingers on the handle, she paused to draw in a steadying breath.

“Help me, Lord,” she whispered, and then slowly pushed the heavy door inward.

The semi-darkened room was quiet. Drew was alone, eyes closed. A shiver of relief rippled through her. Though bruised and sutured, he still looked like Drew.

She breathed a prayer of gratitude. A roadside bomb often did much worse. From the bits and pieces of information she’d gathered, the rest of the convoy hadn’t fared as well.

Given the rhythmic motion of his chest, Drew was sleeping. An IV machine tick-ticked at his bedside, and his left leg was elevated on pillows. A medicine scent permeated the small unit. Monitors she couldn’t name crowded in around his bed. The whole scenario was surreal and frightening.

Heart in her throat, Larissa tiptoed inside, careful not to wake him. She wanted a minute to drink him in, to love him with her eyes, to remember all the beautiful times they’d had together. And most important of all, to thank God above that he remained alive and would recover. Her husband, her heart. How could he want to end the precious gift God had given them when they’d found each other?

As always, Drew looked larger than life, his tall form too big for the standard issue hospital bed, his skin dark against white sheets. One long, manly hand lay across his chest gripping the necklace he always wore. She’d asked him about the tiny fish more than once, but his vague answers hadn’t satisfied. Now that she was a Christian, she wondered even more. Drew tolerated her new faith, but he wasn’t interested in sharing it, which made his attachment to the necklace even more curious.

“A friend gave it to me when I was a kid,” he’d say. “It’s nothing special.”

But she didn’t believe that. Since he was never without it, she suspected the necklace carried a deeper meaning than he let on. But she had never pressed.

That was part of the problem in their marriage. She never pressed. Drew was dark and brooding at times and she’d learned to tiptoe around the topics that set him off. Part of the attraction from the beginning had been that air of mystery, the things he didn’t say or talk about. She wanted to unlock the secrets and see inside his heart. She wanted to know him as he knew her. Drew had never allowed that. For a long time, she’d wondered if he’d ever let her in, if he’d ever let her know the real Drew Michaels. Now she knew he never would.

Once he’d mentioned a “tough” childhood and her hopes had soared that he was about to share his heart. The next day he’d been on the phone about an assignment, and the next day he was gone. She hadn’t seen him again for six weeks. That was the way he was, and she’d learned to accept it. As long as he’d continued coming back to her, she’d been happy.

At some point, he’d decided she wasn’t enough.

The stabbing pain sliced through her heart again. What had she done? Why had he stopped loving her?

Drew stirred then and turned his head, emitting a gentle snore that made her smile. Light from the door illuminated his face. His cheeks were sunken and he was much thinner than normal. Beneath his naturally dark skin existed an unnatural pallor. Pinch lines of pain encircled his supple mouth. She longed to soothe them away with her fingertips.

He needed a shave, too, but then Drew had always gone for the scruffy whiskered look. She’d gone for it as well, head over heels.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on his face. Her beautiful, rugged, dangerous Drew. So deep and mysterious, so brilliant and creative and loving. He had many wonderful traits.

Her thoughts wandered back to the first time they’d met. After paying an enormous price for a group of his stunning photographs, she’d been thrilled for the opportunity to meet the man who could portray children with enough beauty and sensitivity to make her cry. She’d pictured an equally sensitive artist with a gentle and unassuming demeanor.

What she’d met was a wild man with a cocky attitude, dark hair tied back with a leather strip, the tiny fish resting in the hollow of his darkly tanned throat. Dressed in tattered jeans, a denim jacket hanging casually from wide, muscular shoulders, the startling photographer had slowly removed his shades and devoured her with wolf eyes. It had been love at first sight.

Three whirlwind weeks later, over the furious protests of her parents, they’d married.

Her parents had been wrong. Drew was wrong. Now she was the only one left who believed in their marriage.

Deep in his sleep-drenched subconscious, Drew smelled Larissa’s perfume. Sweet and expensive, just like the wearer. Pleasure washed through him, stronger than the throbbing, incessant pain in his body. Larissa.

Coming slowly out of his latest fifteen-minute nap, he hoped he hadn’t been dreaming. He wanted to see her, to hold her. All of the agony of the last few days would disappear as soon as he held her.

Opening his eyes to slits, he saw with relief that she was, indeed, in the room. For a satisfying moment, he looked his fill, unnoticed. She stood at his bedside deep in thought, her attention focused on the wires and tubes dangling around him. She looked stricken, frightened, and he longed to take her in his arms and tell her everything was okay. A fierce protectiveness came over him, laughable because he was too weak to stand up, much less protect anyone.

His Larissa. Classy. Vulnerable. Gorgeous.

He wished for his camera.

Where was his camera anyway? He touched his chest, feeling for the pockets in his vest before realization crept in and he remembered where he was. He also remembered the other thing. He couldn’t hold Larissa ever again.

The throbbing in his head reached a crescendo. She would have been so much better off if he’d made her a widow.

As if sensing his wakefulness, Larissa slowly turned, her gorgeous violet eyes liquid with unshed tears. Drew’s guts clenched with the need to comfort her. He bit down on the sides of his tongue to hold back the words. Divorce was the right decision, regardless of his physical condition. Maybe because of it, too.

Mustering every bit of courage, he ground out the words, “What are you doing here?”

His hand lay limp across his chest. She reached for it, and her soft, silky fingers soothed more than any medicine. In a minute, he’d pull away, but right now, he just couldn’t let go.

“I’ve come to take you home,” she said.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the torment her words brought. Home. He didn’t have a home.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “We’re getting a divorce. I’m not coming home.”

“I don’t want a divorce, Drew, and you’re in no condition at this point to pursue it.”

He hardened his heart and his voice, saying as coldly as possible, “It’s happening. Get used to it.”

Her shimmering tears spilled over then and nearly killed him. Against his own will, he reclaimed her hand.

“Hey, don’t do that. I’m not worth crying over.”

Face sad, she leaned in and laid her head on his chest. He was sure his heart would explode.

“My ribs,” he said, using the injury as an excuse, although her touch made him better instead of worse.

She jerked upright, all concern and contrition. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Should I call the nurse?”

Her hands fluttered above him, afraid to touch but needing to comfort. A born nurturer, Larissa’s sweet concern was getting to him fast.

Before he became a blubbering idiot, he said, “I don’t need a nurse. I need you to leave.” He dragged in a painful breath. “Go home to Tulsa and forget me.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

“Sure you will. Marry some great guy and be happy.”

“I married a great guy, and I was happy.”

He turned his face away. If he looked into those suffering eyes much longer, he’d be lost.

“I’m not leaving, Drew,” she said gently. “And there really isn’t anything you can do about that.”

He squelched the grudging admiration for his smart wife. In his pitiful condition, he couldn’t do much physically, but he knew how to make her miserable enough to leave. Oh yeah. He knew how to make other people miserable. That seemed to be his specialty. He squeezed down hard on the metal fish in his opposite hand.

Inside, he whispered, God, if you care about her, make her go away.

Not that he believed, but Larissa did. And if God was a good God, He’d know Drew was the worst possible choice of husbands for a wealthy socialite whose daddy was a squeaky-clean politician. She was a sweet, loving Christian who had too much to lose by staying hooked up with the likes of him.

But how could he make her go away without being cruel? Her inability to accept the inevitable was exactly why he’d planned to never see her again.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she said, her voice soft and shaky in the quiet. “Tell me about the accident.”

“Accidents are not intentional.”

“You know what I mean. What happened over there?”

He noticed how smoothly she’d sidestepped his demand that she leave him alone. All right then. He’d talk, tell her what she needed to know, and then try again to make her see reason. Right now, his head hurt too much to formulate a battle plan against a smart cookie like Larissa.

He related most of what he could remember, omitting that last horrible experience of flying away from the jeep. He hadn’t asked but figured he knew what happened to the rest of the convoy. Not knowing was the better option at this point. He wasn’t sure he could handle the truth right now.

“I guess I’m lucky to be alive.” A little part of him was scared about that, even though the practical portion thought the world would be better off without him. What if he’d died? Where would he be right now? A near-death experience made a man wonder about things like Heaven and Hell and eternity.

“It’s more than luck, Drew.”

“Still praying for me?” He knew she was. Every time they spoke on the telephone, even that last time, she ended the call with the same words, “I’m praying for you, Drew.”

When she’d first gotten into the religion-thing, he’d thought church was a nice, wholesome hobby to keep her occupied while he was away. But Larissa took her newfound faith very seriously, and he’d noticed the change in her.

“Constantly,” she whispered. And one look at her face told him it was true. She was probably praying this very moment. The idea both comforted and disturbed.

Did God even care about a sewer rat like him? If He did, why had life been so ugly? Why was he so filled with garbage that he tainted everything he touched, even his marriage?

But this was where the tainting ended. He’d hurt Larissa enough. He wouldn’t damage her more.

“Thanks,” he said.

She didn’t answer, just sat there looking beautiful and uncertain. He felt like a jerk of the grandest order. The woman who was comfortable with senators and billionaires didn’t know what to say or how to act, all because of him.

That he’d ever managed to win her love in the first place still amazed him. He, a nobody from nowhere, had won the heart of the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful girl in Tulsa society. He didn’t fit with her kind at all, and they had let him know. Especially her parents.

“I guess your mother and dad were happy to hear about the divorce.” The bitterness in his tone surprised even him.

She stared at him, lost for a minute. He was lost, too, his brain tumbling from one topic to the next. The only thing he could think of for very long was the pain in his body and the worse one in his heart.

“Mother and Dad don’t run my life.”

That was a laugh. She worked for her father, and couldn’t say no to her spoiled, whining mother. In the more than three years that he’d known the Stone family, Drew had never done one thing that pleased them. Mostly, he didn’t care.

But he did care about Larissa, and the estrangement brought her sorrow.

He’d do anything for Larissa. That’s why he had to do this. “I’m tired. Maybe you should leave now.”

She stared down at him, biting her bottom lip. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll just sit here beside you.”

She wasn’t making this easy.

“Go home.”

“Not until I can take you with me.”

The crashing in his temples grew louder.

“Get this straight, Larissa. I don’t want to come home with you. Not now. Not ever.”

“You have nowhere else to go.”

That hurt. “Sure, I do.”

“Where? What else can you do except come home to Tulsa?”

“Rehab. One of those in-patient places. I already talked to the docs.” Not quite the truth, but close enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We have a huge house. I can hire nurses or whatever you need. I can take better care of you than some impersonal rehab facility.”

She reached out again, and he shrunk away. If she touched him, he’d lose his courage. With superhuman determination, he stared straight into her movie-star eyes and said, “Let me be clear about this. I can’t stand to be in the same house with you anymore. Now, get out and leave me alone.”

Abruptly, he closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side.

But not before he saw the stricken expression on his beloved’s face.

Chapter Three

Larissa tossed a tiny Gucci bag onto a chair and collapsed on the bed at the nearest hotel. Fat raindrops, like tears, ran in rivulets down the window.

She was too exhausted for tears of her own. Emotionally and physically, she’d gone about as far as she could for now.

The meeting with Drew had been harder than she’d expected, and she hadn’t expected an easy time. But she had expected him to want to come home to recuperate.

He was badly injured and disturbingly weak. The thought of him alone in an impersonal rehab facility tormented her.

How could he prefer such a place to their lovely, spacious home? The home they’d bought together? He loved that place as much as she did.

He just didn’t love her anymore. At least that’s what he claimed.

To hold back the cry of despair, she buried her face in a pillow.

Though she’d wanted to question why he had suddenly given up on them, after seeing his injuries, she was too concerned with his health. First, she’d get him well and then she’d fight him. She’d fight and she’d win because, even if it was arrogant, deep down she couldn’t believe he’d stopped loving her.

Something was wrong, though. Terribly wrong.

The thought stopped her cold.

Insecurity reared its ugly head. Sometimes men strayed, even strong, steady, decent men like her father. Mother had never guessed, but Larissa had. A politician, like a photographer, traveled widely and alone. Good-looking, charming—both the men in her life would have no problem finding companionship outside the home.

No. She couldn’t believe that about Drew. He might be secretive and mysterious in many ways, but he was faithful. She would know if he wasn’t.

The other woman in Drew’s life had always been his work. Could that be it? Was she cramping his freewheeling, traveling lifestyle?

No, that didn’t make sense either. He came and went as he pleased already, even though she’d asked him to be home more often. His job had always come first, even before their marriage.

The familiar tune of her cell phone played and she fished the instrument from the bottom of her handbag.

A quick glance at the caller ID brought a groan.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Have you seen him?”

With a sigh, Larissa pinched the bridge of her nose. It was always like this—the tug of war between her parents, especially her mother, and her personal choices.

“I had a dreadful flight. Thank you for asking, Mother. And I’m exhausted. Yes, I’ve seen him. His name is Drew.”

“I know that,” her mother snapped. “Is he all right?”

“Do you care?”

“Larissa! That is no way to speak to your own mother. I have a terrible headache, too, but I wanted to check on my little girl before I took some medication and went to bed. Your happiness is the only thing that ever mattered to me.” Her voice took on the whiney, childish quality Larissa had dealt with since childhood. “I wish you were here to make some of your delicious tea. I find it so soothing at times like this.”

For Larissa’s mother, Marsha Edington Stone, times like this occurred more or less every day.

Her discontented sigh huffed through the telephone lines, and Larissa imagined her sinking into the lush, reclining chair in the vast sitting room, one wrist dramatically tossed across her forehead like some eighteenth-century princess.

“What’s upset you this time, Mother?” She’d long ago accepted the fact that Mother’s troubles were far more important than her own.